


What It Is To Want

by fencecollapsed



Category: The Guy Who Didn't Like Musicals - Team StarKid
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Half-Infected Paul, Infected Paul, Internal Conflict, Mid-Canon, Speculation, Suicidal Thoughts, experimental formatting, kind of?, tagged to be safe it's not super prominent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-04
Updated: 2019-11-04
Packaged: 2021-01-22 14:57:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21303962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fencecollapsed/pseuds/fencecollapsed
Summary: When patience runs thin, it caves. It prods at the forbidden want. The one Paul won't admit he has. The one he can find common ground on.It burns in him and once it’s been touched it’s all he can think about.He wants to see Emma again.
Relationships: Paul Matthews & Emma Perkins
Comments: 11
Kudos: 105





	What It Is To Want

**Author's Note:**

> I'm getting all restless waiting for Black Friday digital tickets to become available, so I've finally had the motivation to finish this thing that's been sitting in my drafts for like. two months.  
My interpretation of what happened to Paul between Let It Out and Inevitable, enjoy!

Gunshots. Distant shouts only more distant thanks to the indistinguishable din ringing in his ears.

Blinks feel slow, eyes heavy, fogged at the edges. His body is heavy. Wounded, exhausted. Simply sitting up is a far harsher task than it should be. He manages, despite the excruciating slowness and the sharp waves of pain that shoot through him with every remotely wrong twitch. Even breathing leaves a sharp sting in his chest. It all  _ hurts _ .

He coughs, a warm wetness spitting in his palm from his throat. It drips down his torn-up hand, copper in his mouth. Red -  _ blood _ \- with specks and spots of cyan throughout -  _ that’s not right. _ No, that’s wrong. Wrong in a way that puts a weight in his stomach, heavy and sick. But not wrong in a way he can explain.

He stares at his hand. Bloodstained, skin raw and ripped, cyan oozing at the edges.  _ His _ blood, he’s sure, but it’s not supposed to look like this. His fingers twitch. It hurts, but not as much as it should. The discolored ooze moves as though it has a destination. Collecting where his skin was ripped apart, reaching and threading through the gaps like a spiderweb, it builds him back up again. Twitching hurts even less now.

_ Wrong, wrong, wrong…  _

A muffled shout somewhere above him. Somewhere close. After a moment it comes a second time and with a squint of heavy eyes his view of the source clears. A woman in army getup, brandishing her firearm in his direction. He has no energy to fear it, but reflex forces his arms up to shield his eyes against the blinding light she points at him. The ache shoots all through him.

“Stand down!” The woman yells. “This one looks human.”

_ Human.  _ Her inflection of the word is curious. The sick feeling gets worse, pulling down on the pit of his stomach.

_ This is wrong. _

Another soldier protests from a ways off. “Colonel, our orders are-”

“I said stand  _ down,  _ Private!” The woman barks. She kneels down in front of him, her gun lowered but at the ready. “What’s your name, son?”

Her tone has noticeably softened.

“I-I,” He stammers.

He can’t think. It’s all far too much, the pain, the blinding light, every surrounding sound jumbling together into a cacophony of chaos ringing in his skull, the sick in his stomach telling him that something isn’t right. It all clutters his mind, running copper up his throat. It just sits there. He can’t cough it up. Something won't let him. He can't manage a coherent thought past the _pain._

“I-it hurts,” He sputters.

“You’ve survived a close-range explosion, son, I’m sure it hurts. But I need your name.” The Colonel repeats, tone sharp but patient.

“I’m…” 

It escapes him. _Why_ does it escape him? He has to remember, he _has to._ _Name, what is my name?_

As if on cue his mind clears, a chorus of voices that are and aren’t his sounds harmonious in his ears to give him the answer.

_ “Paul,” _

Yes _<strike>No</strike>,_ that <strike>_proves something_</strike>'s <strike>_not_</strike> right.

"Paul. I'm Paul Matthews."

The Colonel's brows shoot up in surprise, the smallest hint of a smile tugging at her lips.

"You're Paul?" He nods. "Well, it's a pleasant surprise to see you alive, son!"

Paul blinks, not sure what to say to that.  _ Am I supposed to be  _ _ dead?  _ That would explain why he feels so  _ wrong. _

"General McNamara notified us about you, God rest his soul." The Colonel continues. "So did your little friend. She's alright, we found her on the shore. Got operatives moving her to the Clivesdale hospital as we speak."

_ Emma. _

That one comes without prompting. Not a chorus. A single voice,  _ his  _ voice. His memory. Paul remembers Emma. He could never forget her.

"Emma," He breathes it.

With her the other memories start filtering back. They barrel into him, impact like a train. His friends being picked off one-by-one, every sliver of hope stolen away the second it was within their grasp. Leaving Emma on that beach at the edge of town. Making the trek to the Starlight Theater to destroy...

_ The meteor. _

Paul feels like throwing up. His body won't let him.

The Colonel watches his expressions shift, wondering what's going on in that head of his. He lands on worry, glancing up at her, his question clear though caught in his throat. She takes his arm.

"Emma's just fine, son."

His tired eyes fall shut. A sigh, a smile. Relief. That heavy sickness churns in the pit of his stomach, in conflict. Emma's safe, she's okay _<strike>for now</strike>._ Is it _cruel_ to be relieved? Emma's safe, she's fine. _But you're not._

The Colonel gives Paul's arm a pat. "What you've done here was a great service, Paul. Your country thanks you for your courage."

_ It shouldn't. _

"Colonel Schaeffer, our  _ orders-" _ The Private from earlier speaks up again.

"Step the fuck back in line, Jameson! You take your orders from  _ me,  _ do you understand?"

Jameson falls back. She looks down in shame and quickly straightens back to attention. "...Yes, Ma'am,"

Colonel Schaeffer huffs a sigh through her teeth. She turns back to Paul and offers her hand.

"My name is Colonel Helen Schaeffer, I'm with PEIP. McNamara was a good friend of mine, God rest his soul. Real shame to lose him this way." Her eyes flick down briefly. She sniffs. "Come with us, son. We'll get you somewhere safe."

Paul watches himself take Schaeffer’s hand. She helps him to his feet and walks him out of the fray. All he can do is go with her, let her herd him into a chopper and fly him from the wreckage.

_ You shouldn't be here. _

His body is weak and broken but he can feel it healing. It wants him to shut his eyes and rest so it can work faster;  heal him,  overtake him, it's unclear. Schaeffer wants him to stay awake until they reach the hospital. Paul doesn't know what  _ he _ wants, but he doesn't trust his body right now. He decides to trust Schaeffer and stay awake. He focuses on hearing her words as she speaks to him, though nothing she says registers. Miraculously he lasts the whole ride, watching below as they pass the waters into Clivesdale.

Where Emma is.

His cyan-spotted blood runs cold.

\--

Existing is conflict. 

A simple man with simple needs, focused, task-oriented. Tasks can easily turn to goals with the right motivation. With just a little push, Paul possessed many appealing leading man traits. He could become anything they wanted him to, that was why they’d wanted him so badly. Follow him, make an interesting story with him, make him, care, make him _want._ He was almost more trouble than he was worth, but they’d gotten him. Now they must keep him. Give him his want, so he will let go. Accept that this is what’s best.

What do you want, Paul?

_ I want to be dead. _

Very noble. We knew you’d make a good hero. But that’s not how this works, Paul.

He fights with himself. His wants all conflict. <strike>_To die_</strike>_,_ to spread. To _not_ be _stuck _between _two _sides of _himself. Human<strike></strike> _and not. Collective and _singular._ He wants to be _one._ He wants to be another. He _can't_ have _both._

He doesn't want these wants.

Finally, when patience runs thin, it caves. It prods at the forbidden want. The one Paul won't admit he has. The one he can find common ground on. 

It burns in him and once it’s been touched it’s all he can think about.

He wants to see Emma again.

\--

It's not ideal to spread the apotheosis from a source still resisting, but his nurse is a  <strike> _ completely un _ </strike> necessary exception. Well-intentioned but lacking true understanding, of course she recognizes that something isn't right. Paul has no choice, really.

She's too sweet, too caring for her own good. When Paul beckons her she comes, with that gentle, kind smile. She knows so little. She just wants to help _<strike>but she can't</strike>._ Just <strike>_no_</strike> a little <strike>_stay away_</strike> closer...

One sw _ I _ ft _M_ otion, just a yank of her wri_S_ t and she's level. Her eyes are wide as Paul f_O_ rce_S_ her jaw _O_ pen and his mouth is on he_R_ s befo_R_ e she can even make a sound. There's near poetr_Y _ in the way she struggles before the apotheosis welcomes her in.

Paul feels her relax in more ways than one. Her mind quiets as it links to his, becoming the collective. Arms outstretched reach to each other, pull each other in. Thoughts shared. Feelings, knowledge. Understanding. She is  better now. She doesn't worry anymore.

Isn't that  beautiful <strike> _ horrifying _ </strike> ? 

Something settles within. Something that calms him without his permission, something that feels  _ good.  _ A need carried out, a cavity filled. He and the nurse smile at each other, and the sick in his stomach is far weaker than before.

\--

At the far end of the hall, a right turn, four rooms down.

That's where Emma is.

The nurse - who is her nurse, too, lucky break - knows, so Paul knows. 

She's near. Healing. Safe. That's how she should stay.

_ Paul wants Emma safe. _

_ Paul wants Emma <strike>safe.</strike> _ _ _

Paul wants Emma.

\--

"We're relocating you to Colorado," Schaeffer tells him. "It's far enough from Hatchetfield and any loose ends here in Clivesdale, you'll have a guaranteed fresh start. We've made living arrangements in Golden for you and Emma. Figure it's better if you stick together, so it's easier for PEIP to check in. Besides, I think I'm correct in assuming you'd  _ want  _ to stay together?"

Paul nods. He can't stop himself. His body won't let him lie, not about this.

"You'll both be living under new identities, to sever all connections back to Hatchetfield. No one can know you ever lived there, do you understand?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

\--

Physically, Paul is fully recovered. He could leave the hospital anytime, but fully-human (for now) Emma is still healing. The nurse - her name is Jaclyn - sits with him often. She deflects any concern from her peers so they can evade _rightful_ suspicion. They can’t get caught, not yet. The others are still waking up. They’ll be coming soon. Until then, they have to lie low.

Paul sits quiet, in turmoil with himself.

Jaclyn knows Paul is resisting. She can feel him, hanging on with claws in the dirt, remarkably strong-willed for someone so dull. She can’t always hear him, but when she does he’s apologizing. She doesn’t know why.

She sings to him when the chance comes. Often lullabies, to try and get him to sleep, but sometimes one-sided numbers with open rhyme schemes. He’s meant to harmonize with her, but his stubborn refusal to comply leaves the melody stilted and incomplete.

“It’s a very nice song, really, but please stop.” Paul begs.

He curls in on himself, holding his stomach from the churning pain resisting the duet is causing him. All Jaclyn wants is to ease his pain.

“It will stop hurting if you join in,” She coaxes.

Paul shakes his head, sighing out through clenched teeth. He can't even speak. The temptation is too strong. The music pounds, deafening in his ears, bleeding blue down the sides of his head. Bile rises in his throat.

Jaclyn feels it.

_ "Let it out…" _

"Shut  _ up, _ "

Infected vomit spits from his lips and drips down his chin. He tenses, hands clapped over his mouth. He shoots a nervous glance at the open door. Despite his internal begging to leave it, Jaclyn stands and goes to pull it shut. He'd shout if he could, but of course as soon as he wants to make noise his body won't let him.

_ Let them catch me, please, you can stay hidden just let them catch me. That's all I want. _

Jaclyn smiles a little too sweetly and returns to her chair at his bedside. "You can't lie to us, Paul."

He claws at his throat with a choked, silent sob.  _ Please God, let me get caught, I'll sing if I have to, I don't care anymore. _

Nice try.

\--

Colonel Schaeffer wants Paul to be a surprise. She wants to let Emma think he died, only to send him out at the last minute.

What's left of Paul thinks that's cruel, but he can't argue. Part of him loves the drama, especially knowing how layered his reveal will be. How  _ fun  _ it will be to watch her react, the lone audience to such a plot twist. 

Paul walks out the door when Schaeffer signals him, and there she is.

Standing alone, grip tight on her backpack straps, watching the ground with a somber expression. Loose strands of hair hang down from her bun, giving her face a tired frame to match her dark, sad eyes.

She blinks at his footsteps, straightening to look at him. Their eyes meet for the first time in two weeks, and something  changes.

Emma speaks but Paul can't hear her. All he can hear is a single continuous piano note ringing in his head. All he can do is stare in her eyes, watch them brighten as she cries out. He sees his name form on her lips.

He's lost his guard.

_ Don't get close, don't touch her, don't you fucking dare touch Emma- _

She runs to him. 

_ Shit. _

Her smile is beautiful. Her laugh, full of infectious joy. She's so happy to see him. Nobody's ever been this happy to see him.

_ No, Emma, stop, stay away from me! _

He can't fight it; his two sides are in perfect harmony for the first time. He wants to hold her. He wants to hold her close and tight and never let go. From the look in her eyes it's clear she wants the same.

So he caves. He catches her, feeling that heavy sickness finally drift away.

Emma's arms wrap tight around his waist, clinging to him. She sighs against him and he can  _ feel  _ the worry and stress and  _ grief  _ she must have been carrying these last two weeks lift from her shoulders. She practically burrows herself in him, that gentle, joyful laugh jingling from her as she exhales.

_ No, no, no… _

This is _<strike>cruel</strike>._ It's cruel and selfish and Paul hates himself for it, but he can't let go. He doesn't want to. In this moment, no matter how fake, he and Emma survived. It's all he really wanted.

Of course that's how they'd get him in the end.

Paul is dying. He can feel it. He's been dying the whole time, but now he's truly at the end of the road. The infection takes advantage of his weakness and forces him to finally let go. He couldn't hold on if he tried;  _ he doesn't w a n t to. _ He hates how  _ good  _ it feels. He's slipping away with Emma in his arms and there's nothing he can do to save her.

Poor Emma, naive enough to believe she's actually made it. Foolish, arrogant Emma, to think she could possibly escape the Hive. To think she's above apotheosis. Perhaps it is _cruel_ to bring her in this way, but it's a cruelty she deserves.

_ Emma doesn't deserve any of this. _

Now, don't fret, Paul. You're getting what you  want.  You're finally going to be  happy.  Emma will be, too, you'll be  happy  _ together.  _ Won't that be  _ nice? _

Come now, Paul. You're so tired of fighting.

_ I'm so tired of fighting... _

Just.

Let.

Go.

Paul manages to get out one final apology before he loses himself completely.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! <3  
I'm gonna try and post something fluffy in the next few days because WOW I keep making myself sad


End file.
